


in sanguinem, meo fastidio

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: Requests, Prompt Fills and Gifts [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Body Horror, Canon Compliant, M/M, Medical Kink, Mental Instability, Possessive Behavior, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Wound Fucking, hematolagnia, kyluxhardkinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: “I’ll open you up.” Kylo said, then, softer. “I’ll open you up and suck you dry. I’ll suck all the sorrow out of you, all the pain, the uncertainty. You’ll feel free, when it gets to your head, less grounded,  happy.”Or: the unraveling, in three steps.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This actually was written as a fill for TWO KHK prompts. Though it was mainly because I just felt like writing some gore.
> 
> >> Anonymous:  
> Blood drinking but not vampires ~ Kylo has an obsession with Hux's blood and gets off on ingesting it to feel Hux's essence inside him with the Force, way more potently than any sexual fluid. Medical kink too with Hux and Kylo visiting the med bay middle of the night and Hux will let Kylo draw some blood from him, and watches Kylo drink it as foreplay before they fuck hard ~ For rare, lazier 'sessions' Kylo likes to take slightly too much, loving the sight of Hux weak and faint as a result.
> 
> >> Anonymous:  
> Consensual woundfucking? Doesn't matter who's on top, and whether it's painless or they're getting off to the pain, I just want one of them fucking a hole in the other's abdomen and them both loving it. Thank you!

**in sanguinem, meo fastidio**

**...** ****

**1.**

Kylo Ren had never known what desire truly was, not until that day spent standing for innumerous hours outside the medbay, listening to an angered tone that spat with vitriol at medics and officers alike. It was, perhaps, a shocking understanding, something that had crept on him both suddenly and viciously, a predator digging claws into his outer skin, tearing into his sentience.

And _oh, yes, stars._ It was beautiful.

Beautiful, to sense the trepidation when the General walked down the corridors traversing his ship, _beautiful_ , to see him undone, to see the prickling along the edges of his skin, the energy that faded with each passing moment, **beautiful** , to remember the way he’d bent in on himself and sank teeth into his lip, cursed like the desperate animal he really was underneath his flesh.

For the first time, Kylo Ren _wanted._

The scent of blood permeated his nose for far too long, even through his mask, filtered past the vocoder and into his skull until he was half-dazed from lust. He could feel it flooding each of his senses, bubbling up to spill over and ruin everything he’d worked so hard to contain.

_\-- Hux, broken down, laid out on the floor and quivering, his skin sweat-slick and burning at the touch, scalding Kylo from within, down to his very roots. His hands, feebly gripping at worn-black fabric, pale-dainty, the look of an aristocrat too haughty for their own good. Blue veins and red energy, life’s strength, sliding out of whatever wound he’d taken that day, staining his paper-white flesh with a dark and unyielding crimson--_

It was hard to say exactly when the concept of _wanting_ something became synonymous with _obsession._ Of course, there was a certain beauty in that, wasn’t there? In knowing that he could easily have whatever he wanted; the force had gifted him that, hadn’t it? _Gifted_ him power, in strength, in brutality, in knowledge and sense beyond what any non-users could comprehend… why couldn’t he _take?_ Why was he not able to control the most base urge he contained, this _lascivious_ need to take the General apart and examine him from the inside, crawl underneath his skin and _sate?_

He lashed out; he lashed out, he broke, he tore things apart and left the remains strewn across the floor. Even troopers, when necessary; heads lost and blood spattered around torn ligaments and decapitated skulls. But it was nothing, in comparison, never enough; their skin was wrong when it was unwound and the blood reeked of _sweetness,_ not the bitter tang that had become singular to his co-commander.

Starkiller, in the end, ruined them both.

* * *

 

The days after his recovery, Ren had peeled away his bandages a total of twenty-seven times; not for the purpose of changing them, certainly. No, of course not-- not when the blood pulsed just under the surface, the black-and-purple-red-tinged-mess that were his guts, a wound bore deep into his side, so much that Kylo could’ve peeled back the surface, pushed his fingers in and probed the ill-fated organs until they ruptured (if he truly wished.)

Somehow, the thought was mesmerizing, as though it were somehow going to fix the mess of the girl and the droid and the kriffing _Resistance,_ those idle-minded fools who understood nothing of loss… of strength. Strength beyond measure-- it was what turned him, what broke him and rebuilt him, made him into a name that would inspire fear rather than…

Rather than Ben, who did not exist.

Kylo’s fingers would dance along the sutures (later, sealed-scars slathered in bacta,) for minutes at a time before he’d relax his posture and ease the digits away from the skin. Knowing what lurked underneath, the possibility of disease and pestilence and the corruption of the skin, often prevented his sleep. He felt… empty. Devoid, missing something that he couldn’t place but knew he would be unable to continue without--

_Blood._

Kylo’s was dark, and far too dark, an unsatisfying crimson-maroon or something in between. Not like Hux’s, not like that beautiful scarlet-alizarin mixture that dribbled from holes torn through his flesh and teased him by flaunting something he would never be allowed to have. Even when he wanted, when he _needed,_ Hux was--

_Off-limits._

It didn’t change the longing that Ren held, to open him up nice and slow with the glinting silver of a knife, turn him and pull him open and suck the sickness out of him, caress those open wounds with his own split lip and parched tongue, drink down the essence of what Hux was and could yet be, ingest him deep into his very heart, be _filled_ with him. Hux was exquisite, and salacious, made to be drained completely until his skin was white and flawless as a doll’s, his eyes unfocused and hazy, drained of life just as he’d been drained of blood…

Ren would have him. Someday, soon, he would-- it was an inevitability, and there was no other option. He could feel the need overtaking him, spreading out from the murky corners of his brain and out through the piercing wrench deep in his gut…

_Craving._

* * *

 

 

**2.**

It was after his return from training that he happened upon the General again-- disgraced, in his entirety, with shame written across his face even as he grimaced and bared his teeth in a snarl reminiscent of a cornered animal. Ren knew, of course, had to; Hux was a failure, wasn’t he? And then, weren’t they two of a kind, both brimming with self-hate and knowing the other wa--

_Useless._

The word pitched through Hux’s brain without any consideration, whether he found himself addressing the Order, slumped over his desk in the midst of work or shaking as he rolled in on himself and tucked knees to his chest in the darkness of his room; always _useless,_ always _weak,_ just like his father had so often told him. Pathetic, weak-willed, _too thin, too fearful, too slight, too quiet, soft, useless, uselessuselessuseless._

“I can make it go away,” Ren had promised as he reached up to undo the confine of his helmet, set it down on the table beside Hux’s bed where the General sat, aimless, a contortion of disbelief and fury scrawled over his features.

“With that nonsensical _magic_ of yours?”

Disdain, enmity. It was as beautiful as the blood leaking out from the marks scored into his skin, where nails had gripped the skin too tight and ripped it through, lovely rivulets springing to the surface and _taunting--_

“No,” Ren said, after too many moments had slipped away, as he’d leaned forward to slide hands around Hux’s injured arm, gingerly pressed his mouth to the splits and _kissed._

Hux said nothing.

He said nothing when Ren eased him backwards onto the bed, climbed over him and slid their lips together, eagerly, teeth digging into a plush surface and _tearing,_ if only to hear the gasp emanate from Hux’s mouth as he did so. It was even more bitter here, this blood, straight from the source of Hux’s power, that hot cavern that spat words with conviction, enough to split skin and strike down.

Kylo imagined how that pretty, flushed mouth might look wrapped around a cock, how Hux would stare up at him with those perturbed eyes, burdened with the weight of his own indiscretion. He imagined the blood that would leak onto his dick, smeared around and amalgamated with a mixture of Hux’s saliva and his own salty cum.

“I can make it go away,” he repeated, caught in some fantasy and unable to remove himself.

“You said that,” Hux answered, but his words were no longer rough around the edges, no longer distorted. That perpetual hatred had softened to something melancholy, even if uncouth.

Ren kissed him again.

He found the blade hidden in the band of Hux’s jodhpurs without another word, unsheathed it to wave it between them in the dim-lit room, amused with the manic glint that erupted in Hux’s eye.

“I’ll open you up.” Kylo said, then, softer. “I’ll open you up and suck you dry. I’ll suck all the sorrow out of you, all the pain, the uncertainty. You’ll feel free, when it gets to your head, less grounded, _happy.”_

“Will you kill me?” Hux sounded unfazed by the influx of thought.

“No,” Kylo confided, honestly. “Never. But you could escape… if I could have you. If I could have your blood inside me.”

The silence drew itself out too long; Hux lay there, frozen, not even blinking. And then, in a moment of infinitesimal _need,_ he nodded.

* * *

 

When he capsulated into the void of self-flagellation, Kylo would come. He always knew what Hux did, even, it seemed, before the General had figured it out himself. Knives pierced his skin and drew marks into his deathly pallor, transforming his pale body into a canvas for the most lovely red art; different shades, blending together and bathing him anew…

Rebirth, through blood.

Some nights he wouldn’t move, but others, he’d shift and he’d squirm and tears would prick at the corners of his eyes, threatening to ruin the sovereignty of his entire being. The spell was accompanied by a wave of dizziness that would push into his head, deep, and overpowering, making him faint on his feet, gripping to Ren for a security he wasn’t sure he wanted.

Kylo found it beautiful; more, he found _Hux_ beautiful, in this state of disarray, existing away from the perfection he’d so long strived for. The warmongering General, the Starkiller, drifting away from a few lines in his skin, opening himself to Ren, always so bare, so needy. If the occasion struck, Ren would indulge in their pleasures as well; rutting himself against Hux’s leg with a fervor, three fingers inside the General’s aching body, his hole stretched and spit-slick, dribbling blood around the digits that plunged deep and teased his prostate until his thighs trembled. A knee pressing into Kylo’s crotch, and on occasion a foot, marks worn into each other’s necks and blood smeared along Ren’s still face.

He’d lick his lips, savoring it; the richness, because Hux’s blood was like nothing Ren had tasted before, nothing he’d _had._ It held the power of kyber crystals, of blaster-fire, of glowing smoke in the dark, the Order and the Force meshed together and crushed into the General’s bloodstream.

More than anything, it was _Hux,_ and he was Kylo’s.

* * *

 

**3.**

It’s nighttime. The day cycle has ended, and moments pass by without warning, though there is something primitive in every second of time that is lost in translation. Hux lies spread out beneath Kylo on the bed, a wound short deep into his side with a scalpel. He’s making these noises that set Kylo alight like nothing else; toes curling and hips pressing upward as Kylo digs fingers into the mutilated flesh, stretching it out, opening him until he can smear the red around his fingers, lift them and lay a string of blood in the air between his hand and Hux’s opened gut.

“You’re beautiful,” Kylo says, then, softly. “So open, and all mine. All of you-- strong, but aching. Do you feel it?”

“ _Ren,”_ Hux manages, voice pitched low, unfamiliar. “I can feel you-- inside. Is this how you…?”

“No,” Ren responds, and then smiles up at Hux as he slides down the General’s lithe body, teeth pulling at the meat of his thigh, teasing the opened flap of skin lining the crevasse of his belly. “You fill _all of me,_ ” he adds, as though he could make Hux understand, teasing the opening with his tongue. “Let me in.”

Hux’s hands slide along the curve of Ren’s cheek, one black-gloved palm tangling in his hair with clever fingers tugging impatiently on the raven locks.

And Kylo pushed his tongue in. He pushes in, and he nips, and he chokes and swallows, burying his face in Hux’s heat, in that unforgiving stain that spreads open like it was made for him. He’s here now, tasting Hux, and Hux is here too, _wanting_ him inside, wanting to be _consumed._

It’s slick, the blood, drawing garnet jewels over Hux’s side and accommodating all of Ren that wants him, his fingers and his face, his rooted _love_ for what Hux lets him do--

“ _A_ _rmitage,”_ Ren moans into the wound, as his tongue cuts deep like a sword, stabbing further in and parting him. He’s sliding back, and there’s red soaking his face, matting his hair. Hux’s spine is curved, his stomach upturned, and Ren is dragging those blood-slick fingers over his cock, getting himself slick, getting himself _ready,_ because he needs this--!

He plunges inside and it’s a different reality; Hux is shifting around him, and those organs are parting, squishy and tight around him, leaking wetness all around him in some form of lubrication, pulsing around Kylo’s length as he parts further. And oh, Kylo thinks, how happy he is to find that he _fits._ Hux is rearranging himself for him, remaking his body in Kylo’s image, wanting to fit him, wanting him _deeper,_ for whatever time they have here…

He sinks himself to the hilt, and the blood boils. A broken cry parts from Hux’s lips, but it’s not sorrowful, not when that sick mouth is covering his face with eager kisses, nipping and biting, tongue dragging along Kylo’s definitive scar, as though it is something to be _cherished._

“I _want,”_ Hux says, but that’s all that slips out. Then, again, “I want _you._ We could. Everything… change it. We could draw the galaxy in blood, and open it like you open me, fill it with our bloodlust like I fill you--”

“ _Yes,”_ Kylo agrees, enthusiastically. “ _Yes, Hux, you’re so good, festering in your veins, posed to death--”_

“A galaxy in our blood--!”

“ _Force,”_ Ren’s voice is hoarse as he pulls out and spills himself over Hux’s bleeding gut, just outside the wound, over his pretty, pale, paper skin.

_This is their art, and the galaxy is their canvas_ **_._ **


End file.
